When little Miss Joy had tripped across the row to her own door, Mrs. Harrison had gone into the house.
The shutters were being taken down from several of the windows, blinds were drawn up, doors opened, and the row was waking to life and the business of life.
Mrs. Harrison went about her usual work of clearing up and dusting and sweeping, and about half-past six she called a boy from one of the opposite houses to take down the shutters of the little shop front.
The boy looked wistfully at her sad face, and asked, "Is Jack ill, please, ma'am?"
"No, not ill," she answered, unwilling to spread the news that he had run away; "not ill; but I am up early."
The boy asked no further question, but said to himself, "Something is up; and here comes Mr. Paterson!"
"Have you found him?" Patience asked, under her breath. "Any news? Any news?"
George passed into the house, for he did not wish to excite observation.
"No—no direct news; but I hear some ships got under weigh about three o'clock. The tide served, and it is just likely that the boy is aboard one. Don't you think me unfeeling now if I say, it is just as well he should go; he may learn a lesson you couldn't teach him."
"The same story, the same trial over again! Oh, how can I bear it?" Patience said, in a voice that filled the honest heart of George Paterson with deep pity and almost deeper pain.